


Tongues

by yfere



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: All the conspiracy theories, Blowjobs, Caleb channels Fjord sort of, Essik's familiar channels Charlotte's Web, Learning languages but sexy (?), M/M, Scheming, Spying, handjobs, liberal use of the 'caleb is consecuted' conspiracy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 23:50:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18839305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yfere/pseuds/yfere
Summary: When you can't spy on the foreign wizard with spells, the next logical step is to bring him into your home and spy on him with your own two eyes. Preferably while he's sleeping.





	Tongues

**Author's Note:**

> I mean, given my horrible love for all wizards and shady people everywhere, I couldn't NOT write a little for these two.
> 
> I've also decided that the Krynn speak Welsh. Translations at the end.

Watching over the newcomers was quickly—maybe a little _too_ quickly—becoming Essik’s favorite part of the job. They were so strange, and quaint, and _funny_. Dangerous, given the reports about how they handled the demons and the giants, but funny. Nothing like the drudgery and darkness of the war, or like the simple fascination of his research. What kind of people would tell such cheerful, bald faced lies to a Queen? What kind of people would return something so important? What kind of people would do so much—for a husband, a little halfling man? Would ask to end the war? Would plant a tree on top of their home? These were all things the Bright Queen wanted to know, so Essik was happy to listen and report, happier still because even if the information he gleaned wasn’t useful, it was—a relaxing pastime, to listen to them bicker and tease and plan their day to day lives.

He’d been instructed to keep a particular eye on the humans. Despite what they’d worn on their first meeting, they were the ones to speak most convincingly at court, the monk and the wizard who had shocked them all, with his voice and his actions. They were the two who had gone in to accept the job from Waccoh, and might then enjoy some type of leadership position in the company they kept, though it was looking less and less like a mercenary company to Essik, and more like a kind of Den in its own right.

Observing the monk turned up only a little that was useful. When she wasn’t exercising or drinking she was writing, in what Essik eventually concluded was a cipher, and a tremendously complicated one at that. If they were to have a hope of cracking it they would have to carry out an operation to break into the home and take some of her notes—difficult, since she appeared to want to keep them on her person at all times.

The wizard, Widogast, couldn’t be observed at all. Whenever he walked into a room where Essik had set up _Clairvoyance_ , the spell would fizzle. He could only track which rooms the man walked into and when—his room, most of the time, and the library. Sometimes the monk’s room, and once also to the half-orc’s room. They would have to keep a closer eye on that one as well. Their demeanor was always changed by the man’s leaving, and Essik couldn’t bear not knowing what was being said. And that was the reason, the only reason that mattered, why he thought he’d pursue a more personal touch on the case.

Widogast seemed—too familiar, in some ways. It was in the way he spoke, his careful avoidance of asking any question that seemed more than polite interest. His joke with the cat’s paw. How he’d chosen the bending of fate, destiny, without a moment’s hesitation. The way he carried himself. It was familiar, and it was strange. Essik couldn’t put a finger on it. And that was the reason, the only reason that mattered, why Essik decided to get more personal still. Widogast seemed amenable enough.

 

 

“You talk in your sleep,” Essik said with fascination.

Widogast threw a hand over his eyes and groaned, in a way that reminded Essik a little too keenly of the night before. “ _Ja_ , it happens on occasion.”

“Bit of a security breach, wouldn’t you say?”

The hand dragged down a fraction so that Widogast could give him a disbelieving squint. “Not my worst,” he said lightly. “Besides, I have nothing to hide.”

Essik didn’t believe it for a moment. He never had.

“Did you hear anything interesting?”

“Oh, no.” Essik reached under the covers and stroked at the man’s side, savoring his faint shiver before reaching lower. “You were speaking a different language at the time.”

“ _Das lenkt ab._ ”

“Yes, like that.”

He wasn’t above a _Comprehend Languages_ , though, even in the middle of the night, when Widogast pulled him out of meditation with his first quiet murmurings. It had been useless, all of it, fragmented words and snatches of phrases— _no, I’m trying, have to be careful, it hurts._ It was probably some kind of nightmare, Essik reasoned, but at the time he’d felt no particular urge to interrupt the dream, or to drop the spell. He just let the words, soft and intermittent and beautiful in their way, wash over him, filter through the matrix of his magic. He’d almost missed it, in fact, when Widogast did say something he understood, without needing translation. “ _Mae arnaf ofn,_ ” he said, in Undercommon. _I am afraid._ And then the Zemnian started again, and Essik had let the spell fade.

“ _Pa gyfrinachau ydych chi'n eu cuddio?_ ” he whispered now, into the shell of his round and hot ear. He swiped his tongue along the ridge, wondering if that might cool it down. “ _Pwy ddysgodd yr iaith hon i chi?_ ”

Widogast was trembling in earnest now, breathing in short, stuttering gasps, but he didn’t seem to be paying much mind to Essik’s words, instead clutching at any part of Essik he could reach, fingers twitching towards the hem of his loose sleep-pants in an unspoken question.

“ _Bitte, bitte—_ ”

“ _Dywedwch hynny yn fy iaith._ ” He halted his own hand and waited, to no effect. “Say it so I can understand.”

Widogast’s eyes flew open, blue like the open sky, those rare days they gathered to watch it lit by the sun. “ _Please,_ ” he said. “I want to—let me—”

So Essik helped him take off his remaining clothing, let Widogast tug him forward until he straddled him with his knees braced just under his armpits. Let him pull him forward farther.

“You’re an ambitious one.”

“Problem?” Widogast breathed against his tip.

And—there was more than one tongue he was curious about, at the moment. So he gave in, and pressed in past his waiting lips, let his thoughts drift away to a simpler, more urgent language.

 

 

  
The next time, he brought Widogast in with the promise of a spell. It was a little dangerous, he knew—the more he gave away, the less there was to lure the man. And the less hold he—they—had over him, the more of a risk he could be. Widogast was a voracious learner, he would take them for all they were worth if they let him.

But Essik couldn’t help but wonder—he’d picked up the first spells so quickly. He wasn’t nearly as talented as Essik was, of course, but more so than many others he could name. Most. At the beginning Essik had half-wanted to watch him flounder, his Empire-tainted understanding of magic fracture and fail when confronted with the truth. Yet he absorbed it all so readily, too often anticipated the next step before Essik presented it to him. _Mae arnaf ofn_ —the words echoed in Essik’s head. Spoken without a trace of an accent. What did he already know? Why would he hide knowing that, pretend ignorance? Were they all being played for fools?

Essik had already made his point with his spellbook with their first meeting, so this time he copied his notes ahead of time onto a scroll for Widogast to read. “This is a little above the level I was showing you before,” he said. And he knew how to read faces—Widogast couldn’t be faking that greedy glint in his eye, surely. “You described yourself as an autodidact?”

“For the most part, _ja._ ”

“ _Mae hynny'n dda._ I have my own research to do today, so I will not have much time to attend to you. How long will you need with this?”

“May I—”

“Of course.”

Widogast flipped through the papers, eyes scanning and pausing on the diagrams, mumbling something underneath his breath and counting on his fingers. “Six hours, Shadowhand. Perhaps a little longer.”

_Fast. But not as fast as it could be._

“I should mention, when it comes to paper and ink—”

“You may use mine,” Essik said, and frowned at the surprised look on Widogast’s face. “There’s no need to thank me. I don’t have the time to wait for you to acquire your own. Consider it another favor, for the moment.”

Widogast nodded. “Done.” And that was the other interesting thing about Widogast, that he didn’t hesitate to accept favors, like so many others Essik knew. He might have chalked it up to ignorance, Empire naivete, but he had a feeling Widogast knew exactly the debts he was racking up—he was just confident in his ability to repay them.

Widogast began humming a low chant, beginning what Essik recognized as a _Comprehend Languages_ ritual. He caught Widogast’s arm in his hand, stopping him. He watched a delicate flush climb up the man’s neck at the contact—Essik hadn’t seen many sunrises in his life, but the soft and spreading pink struck him as very similar.

“I apologize if I overstepped. It’s only that your notes are written in a language other than mine,” Widogast whispered.

Essik let go of his arm, but couldn’t help but trail a finger along the pink, watching it grow darker. “I’ll be plain. How long do you intend to stay here, in Xhorhas?”

“We put down roots here. We have not been making plans to leave.”

Essik closed his eyes. A dissembling reply. Oh, well. “If you intend to stay here, you must make an effort to learn the language. I want you to attempt this without the crutch of that spell. It should be a motivating exercise, wouldn’t you agree?” And one that should, hopefully, encourage Widogast to tip his hand. If he knew more of their language than he let on, perhaps he would let it slip, a little, pretend to learn too fast for the sake of gaining a spell.

Widogast turned his head, brushed his lips on Essik’s wrist. “Mm. Motivating,” he said, as if deep in thought. “As you wish. Though I can no longer promise to be as fast as you might like. I wish you well with your research.”

Essik was tempted to delay longer, to follow up the delicate pressure on his skin with something more. But he’d let himself be distracted once already, and it was important that he _could_ deny himself, if he chose. If it was important. So he left Widogast in the spare room he’d prepared for him, and went to his own study.

Essik hadn’t been lying about the research, though he couldn’t leave Widogast completely to his own devices. He’d thought, recently, that if more sophisticated kinds of observation failed to work on the man, something a little cruder might be more suited to the job. So Essik returned to the sorts of tricks he’d used when younger—the alarm wire was visible, pointed out and explained. Gwrandäwr, in the form of a spider, was not.

She might even have remained hidden, had Widogast not immediately cast a _Detect Magic_ when left alone in the room. As it was, nearly as soon as Essik dipped into the senses of his familiar, Widogast found Gwrandäwr in the corner of the ceiling and pinned her with his gaze.

  
And winked.

He didn’t know whether to be irritated or charmed. _He’s entirely too paranoid,_ he thought, but his lips were pulling up into a smile all the same. He told Gwrandäwr to climb onto Widogast’s hand, when he settled to write.

“Careful, _Frau Spinne,_ ” Widogast said. “You may be able to bite me, but Frumpkin could swallow you whole.”

Frumpkin—that was his familiar. The cat. On second thought…

 _Make a web on the door,_ he told Gwrandäwr. _Write “Just try it” on the web._ He sent her an image of the message he wanted, in Sylvan script Widogast would understand.

 

 

  
The research had been successful. Illuminating enough to give him a few more ideas to pursue. His project with Widogast, however…

“I’m afraid I could only make headway with a very basic translation, little towards learning the spell itself.” Widogast’s smile was wan. “I’ve done something like this only once before, but at the time I had at least partial assistance from a _Comprehend Languages_.”

“That’s a shame.”

“If your intention was to put me in my place, I would say you’ve met your goal.” Widogast bowed slightly at the waist. “I will put in the time to learn, _Llaw Gysgodol_. Thank you for your advice.”

“Your pronunciation could use some work.”

“I’m sure my accent could as well. _Gute nacht_ , Shadowhand.”

Widogast left him then, to return to his home in the Firmaments.

“ _Gute nacht_ ,” Essik murmured, to the empty air.

Maybe Widogast was also in the practice of denying himself things he wanted, to serve a greater purpose. Though there were a dozen ways to explain knowing the language—a great level of secrecy wasn’t required, surely. And knowing the accent? Why would his voice change?

_Is it possible you’re reading too much into the murmurings of a sleeping man—_

But of course not. He’d never been wrong to wonder before. He just needed a new plan, to wrest the information from him.

**Author's Note:**

> Das lenkt ab--That's distracting  
> Mae arnaf ofn--I am afraid  
> Pa gyfrinachau ydych chi'n eu cuddio?--What secrets are you hiding?  
> Pwy ddysgodd yr iaith hon i chi?--Who taught you this language?  
> Dywedwch hynny yn fy iaith.--Say it in my language.  
> Mae hynny'n dda--That's good.  
> Frau Spinne--Mrs. Spider  
> Llaw Gysgodol--Shadowhand


End file.
